


Meaning

by stilesune



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 4.7k of pure smut (with feelings), 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottoming from the Top, Coming Untouched, Emotionally Constipated Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Implied Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Kind of hate sex... but not really... Stiles just needs to come to terms with his emotions, M/M, Power Bottom Derek Hale, Rough Oral Sex, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Stiles is kind of a cockslut, Top Stiles Stilinski, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesune/pseuds/stilesune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had unspoken rules. It didn’t matter who topped, what was said during, there was a safe word for Derek’s peace of mind even though Stiles could handle it (and vice versa); kinks, toys, whatever, got consent beforehand. Most importantly: they never talked about it afterwards or kissed afterwards, they never got attached, they never ever asked questions. </p><p>Until Derek fucked that up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaning

**Author's Note:**

> I want to preface this by saying that I was recently cleaning out my laptop and decided to read through all 10+ fics I have that are unfinished. This gigantic finished piece of smut is 4700+ words from a fic that I had 15k for with over 30k more to go. I started it back in the middle of 3a (hence mentions that Derek's still an Alpha) and it was gonna be an AU off of that involving Stiles leaving after senior year to join the FBI. There was even a cameo by a Criminal Minds character and the offspring of Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars (in "another life" where Veronica joined the FBI and became a rockstar and now their daughter is an intern). So if it seems like it belongs in a bigger piece with more backstory, that's because it does/did. But hey, here's almost 5k in smut!
> 
> Also, there's a slight Dom/Sub feel to some scenes, but more on my thoughts about that in the end notes.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

 

It didn’t mean anything the first time when he was almost twenty and back in Beacon Hills because his father had been hurt. It didn’t mean anything a few years later when Derek stopped off in Virginia from New York while Stiles was training—to check in on Stiles, for Scott and the Sheriff’s peace of mind he claimed—and they fucked three times over the twenty four hours he was there. It didn’t mean anything a year later when Stiles was coming off a really bad case his rookie year at the San Francisco office and the pack met up with him.

 

It might’ve meant something a few months after that time though, in the dark of Stiles’ bedroom when Derek showed up for no reason with no warning.

 

They had unspoken rules. It didn’t matter who topped, what was said during, there was a safe word for Derek’s peace of mind even though Stiles could handle it (and vice versa); kinks, toys, whatever, got consent beforehand. Most importantly: they never talked about it afterwards or kissed afterwards, they never got attached, they never ever asked questions.

 

Until Derek fucked that up.

 

_“When are you coming home?”_

_“I am home.”_

 

Stiles cries out when Derek’s teeth sink into his neck, back arching and cock sliding against the hard line of body in front of him. He groans, nails digging sharply into Derek’s shoulder blades to pull him closer, trapping his cock against the wet patch on cotton. Hissing when they line up and Derek grinds down, Stiles lifts a leg to hook a thigh over Derek’s hip to meet his thrusts.

 

“Fuck you, it doesn’t.” Derek argues back, mouth latching sloppily to Stiles’. His teeth gnaw and pull until the lips underneath his are slack and panting. “Safe word is peaches.” He smiles darkly, watching as a bit of clarity comes back to Stiles through the lust and he scowls at the choice, an inside joke of sorts. “Pinch if you want me to stop when you can’t speak.”

 

“When I can’t...?” Stiles doesn’t get to finish the question, his breath punching out of him when he’s shoved to his knees forcefully. His head knocks back against the wall on his way down and sends a dull ache through his head. He has a moment to glare up at Derek, wanting to spit the safe word just to piss the other man off, but his mouth is watering at the prospect of what’s coming. He never understood that phrase really—mouthwatering—until he’d been on his knees in front of Derek at nineteen years old with a slick cock in front of his mouth, twitching with the need to be down Stiles’ throat.

 

Derek pushes his boxer briefs to his knees before framing Stiles’ face between both of his hands. He looks down at him; eyes flicker red, mouth drops open as he circles his hips in front of Stiles’ face. The head of his dick slides across Stiles’ mouth, catching in the gap and pushing in slightly before it pops back out. He sees Derek watching when he licks the precome from his lips, closes his eyes and moans softly over the taste. He blindly searches with an open mouth for more of it.

 

Derek grabs two fistfuls of hair and guides Stiles’ mouth to his cock. His breath hitches when he finally, _finally_ , gets the head in and catches it on a bit of teeth before tongue soothes the fission of hurtful pleasure away. He’s not gentle with pushing in, watchful when Stiles hollows his cheeks, feels the heavy pressure on his tongue. The taste is as amazing as he remembers; come, sweat, the sharp tang of skin. He only got to blow Derek twice in their years of hook ups, something he greatly regretted. He loves to go down on people. He was always made fun of or told to shut up because of his mouth. It’s a weird sort of vindication that he can make someone unravel now when he gets his mouth on a man or woman. Getting a release from Derek though is heady, better than all others.

 

Stiles groans sadly when the hands in his hair prevent him from sinking further on Derek. He digs his fingers into Derek’s ass cheeks, pushing forward and pulling in, only succeeding in another inch. He can feel the ridge of the head on the very back of his tongue, but Derek’s long enough to go into his throat. He wants that, wants to fucking _choke_ on it. Wants to have trouble breathing, wants his eyes to water, wants to swallow around him over and over and over again until Derek cries out and shoots into the contractions.

 

Stiles breathes deeply through his nose, inhaling the rich scent surrounding him while he drags a finger through the drool on his chin. He flicks his eyes up at Derek and takes in the scene. He’s flushed red, lightly haired chest heaving. He has his forehead resting against the wall with his eyes closed and mouth hanging open. He looks fucking blissed out and that’s only from having half of his dick in Stiles’ mouth. Next time, Stiles is gonna fuck that mouth. Hold him by the throat and fuck into it, pull out before he comes and shoot all over that face before he even finishes whining over the loss of Stiles cock.

 

Stiles presses the heel of his palm to the base of his erection, willing himself not to explode over the mental images he’s overwhelming himself with. He’s never thought about a _next time_ before, but fuck he needs to know what it feels like to have the Alpha fucking werewolf on his knees for him.

 

With Derek distracted, not feeding him anymore of his cock but shallowly thrusting, Stiles has the opportunity on an outward thrust to take the spit slicked finger and push it into Derek’s hole.

 

Derek gasps out his surprise, jerking forward instinctively against the intrusion and _there_ , there it is. His throat burns, eyes are watering, swallowing around the dick as he reflexively gasps for air. It tastes so good, _feels_ so fucking good. If he could smile around the root of Derek, he would. As is, he can barely look up at Derek’s face from the angle, but he knows there’s probably a scowl there. He feels it when the hands in his hair readjust to just one hand gripping tighter, the other pressing a thumb into the hollow of his cheek. He groans, pulling back just enough to clear his airway and take another breath, before sinking the few inches back in.

 

It’s only a matter of time, he thinks as he shoves his finger to the second knuckle within Derek. He’s pushing Derek to release. Not to come, but to let go. The bastard’s holding back and he can feel it in the way his muscles are tensed and quivering underneath the hand Stiles has placed against Derek’s abdomen. He uses that purchase to push away, sliding back on Derek’s cock until the head’s weeping against his bottom lip.

 

“This is the only chance you’ll have to fuck a hole tonight,” Stiles tells him, pressing a second finger in dry. Derek winces a little, but it smooths out quickly thanks to his werewolf pain tolerance. Stiles will use plenty of lube as an apology later. “Make use of it.” His voice is tight, gravelly from using himself on Derek. He wants Derek to fucking _use_ him, and that’s there. A veiled threat, a demand.

 

Derek presses back in, going in one smooth movement this time until he’s buried at the back of Stiles’ throat. The thumb on his cheek and fingers curled around his jaw tighten along with the hand in his hair. It’s the only warning he gets before his head is being held stationary and Derek begins to fuck his mouth.

 

The noises he makes, little pants and almost pained moans, make Stiles twitch in his hand. He’s practically dripping, his neglected cock’s sensitive to the touch. He wants to stroke himself, explode onto the floor at Derek’s feet while his mouth is used, but he rather wait to come in Derek. Derek loves that, which had surprised Stiles. He figured the great Alpha werewolf would be strictly a top, but he’d apparently discovered equal opportunity while Stiles was making strides at the bureau. The second time they’d fucked that day in Virginia, he pulled Stiles from a near fucked out coma with those little moans as he fingered himself open and told Stiles to fuck him.

 

Remembering that isn’t helping Stiles will himself not to come, especially not when it was one of his favorite go to fantasies during alone time in the showers at headquarters when he needed to wash away a case and beat out the tension from his body.

 

Derek fucks forward into his mouth, then back onto his fingers when he pulls out. He’s whimpering, thrusts losing a bit of their harsh rhythm so that he can slide slowly over Stiles’ tongue, dig his thumb in and feel himself through the thin flesh of Stiles’ cheek, settling into the open throat waiting for him where he drips precome.

 

As much as he wants Derek to come down his throat with his fingers fucking his ass, he’d rather Derek explode over his hand with Stiles’ own cock buried deep inside his pliant body.

 

He removes his fingers, whimpering when Derek gasps, and pinches the sensitive under curve of Derek’s ass cheek.

 

Derek frowns down at him, nearly pouting, and jutting forward once, twice, three more times shallowly, before he pulls out entirely. “What?”

 

Stiles stands, cock bouncing almost painfully when he does so. He grabs Derek’s neck, pushing in for a filthy kiss. “I love it when you fuck my mouth, but you’re going to come with me inside you.” Derek’s eyes flashing red is all he sees before he’s grabbed in another kiss, desperation making it miss the mark mostly. Derek’s hauling him up by the ass, fingers biting in and hefting until Stiles wraps his legs around the width of waist. His dick sliding wetly across muscle and hot skin causes him to groan. He just wants to be _in_ Derek right the fuck now.

 

He’s thrown down onto a mattress, bouncing from the force until Derek’s pinning him down. They’re touching everywhere possible, rutting against one another to sate themselves while their hands roam and their mouths lick and bite at any inch of skin. Derek’s teeth draw thick blunt lines across his pulse point, fingers stroking gently over the scars on the back of his neck. He pulls back to look down at Stiles then, brow furrowed like he’d forgotten they were there and couldn’t remember what they were. It must be nice because Stiles can’t forget the three days that Theo had him before Scott slashed his throat. Stiles swallows roughly, eyes widening and heart quickening when he places the look on Derek’s face. Guilt, pain, fear, relief, and...

 

“Don’t.” His voice is wrecked and he tells himself it’s from Derek fucking his throat raw. Nothing else. It can’t be anything else. That’s not what this is about. It’s never been about that. It’s been about physical attraction, the need to fuck and get fucked. It’s never been about emotions. There was never a deep seated crush that triggered Stiles’ sexual realization. Derek didn’t secretly harbor feelings for the human that his tortured past prevented him from acting on because of his age. Stiles wasn’t that oblivious and Derek wasn’t that selfless.

 

Derek’s next kiss is softer, the barest of pressures against Stiles’ mouth. His tongue licks lazily over the seam of mouth, not demanding entrance but just tasting. Stiles needs this to be fast, to be rough, to be their usual near detached. This is too... much.

 

He pushes his hips off the bed, almost octopuses himself around Derek until his legs are hooked around his and his hands around shoulder blades so that he can switch their positions. He sits astride Derek now, who’s just staring up at him with a soft expression. “Stop.” He commands sharply, sliding forward so that Derek’s cock slips out from underneath his and slaps up against the crack of his ass.

 

He watches Derek’s face while he slides up, letting the come slick his way before he leans back again and slides until he’s pressing up under Stiles’ balls and grinds their dicks together. The softness leaves Derek’s face (mostly, it’s still there but he’s choosing to ignore that) when Stiles grinds down particularly vicious and his breath catches.

 

“Make good on your promise or it’ll be me coming in your ass.” Derek promises, twitching up until he’s pressing against Stiles’ hole. He slides over it instead of trying to breach though.

 

Stiles grins down at him for a second before he’s twisting over to the nightstand. He gets his hands on the lube he knows Derek keeps there. Every man kept their lube in the bedside table, c’mon.

 

He doesn’t want to give up his purchase of being on top of Derek, wants to be able to rut down into muscle and heat instead of cool cotton, so he just maneuvers until he’s sitting on Derek’s chest and looking down at his cock. He never thought he’d find a cock beautiful (had actually laughed during that one case when he read a psychopathic writer talking about _beautiful angry red cocks that glistened with come and spit_ ) but... it was all sort of accurate. At least in Derek’s case. Everything about Derek was beautiful. On the outside anyway.

 

Stiles grabs the base of Derek, lifting him so that he can suck at the head, tongue the slit, while he uses his thumb to spread the lube over three of his fingers. He’s pressing in with all three the same time he deep throats Derek again, causing him to groan loudly. It goes straight to Stiles’ cock, making him press down and grind into the body under him, arching his back and putting himself on display. He hears Derek’s growls before there are hands on his hips pulling backwards and a tongue lapping at his exposed hole.

 

He barely has time to pull off of Derek before the tongue spears in and he cries out, “Fuck!”

 

He nearly loses balance with three fingers in Derek’s ass occupying one hand, while his other slips off of Derek’s hip to fist the sheets. He wants to bite something, a whimper almost sobbing its way out of him. He wants to cry, wants to plead, wants to scream as the tongue retreats for several beats until it’s breaching again. He wants to snark that for someone so inept at talking, Derek’s tongue can certainly do wonders.

 

Another thing he realized when having sex with Derek? Everything is ten times hotter. He loved getting rimmed before, but this? Having Derek’s tongue fucking his ass, his fingers digging into his hips, the wet heat filling him? It’s sending everything from a normal of eight on the _feels good_ scale to a _Jesus Fucking CHRIST_. It’s wet and wriggling, stabbing its way into his body. He’s not sure about the rules of this, not sure he’s allowed to because this is the first time Derek’s rimmed him, but he can’t help but fuck back onto the tongue.

 

There’s a hand pressing against the base of his spine and at first he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and Derek is telling him to stop. He’s not though, he’s urging him forward and then dragging him back against the muscle in his hole. Derek likes it. Derek fucking likes that Stiles is fucking himself while getting rimmed. He missed this. Missed this so fucking much. Missed that as long as he doesn’t say the safe word or pinch him, then Derek’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants to until you’re a whimpering, sobbing, come streaked mess underneath him. Or above him. Or to the side of him, against him, whichever way they fuck.

 

He shudders, tightening like a bow as he pulls himself up fully until he’s all but sitting back on Derek’s face. He has his whole bottom lip between his teeth, biting down until it throbs, while Derek works his tongue deeper into his body. He’s circling his hips and pressing back in an effort to help.

 

It’s so intimate, so insanely hot and overwhelming and fuck, “Derek… Derek stop.” He feels on the verge. He’s neglected touching himself so much that he’s dripped a puddle of precome onto the center ridge of Derek’s abs. He rubs it into the skin, feels more than hears Derek’s purr of satisfaction from that. God, he likes that Stiles just marked him with come like that. “Need to be in you. Need to fuck you.” Stiles gasps out, pulling his fingers from Derek’s hole and his own off of Derek’s tongue.

 

The hands on his hips grip and performs some kind of circus magic trick because the next thing Stiles realizes, there’s a dizzying blur of scenery until he’s lying on the mattress and Derek’s perched over top of him.

 

“Gonna fucking ride you.” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ mouth, not quite kissing him but he licks into Stiles’ mouth when he gasps.

 

Of course Derek would bottom from the top. It’s so like him. Stiles rolls his eyes at the thought, but all exasperation is sucked away when Derek’s hand wraps around him. The image he presents is truly magnificent. He’s all hard muscle tapering into a lean waist and strong hips, artfully sculpted facial hair hovering between stubble and beard. He’s flushed, patches of red skin that Stiles wishes he could mark up. He wants to see his fingerprints around hips in the morning, suck bruises into the column of neck, leave his teeth on biceps, fingernail half moons on shoulder blades. He can do all of that, enjoy it for a few minutes while Derek focuses on those spots to stop from healing, but they’ll fade all too soon.

 

Derek’s looking at him like that again, just holding him in his hand, poised to take him in. He feels the need to touch making his fingers itch. He gets this so rarely that he needs to take while he can. He flattens one hand over a thigh, the other slowly stroking up Derek’s torso. He pauses over the heart, feeling it thudding heavily beneath his own pulse that seems to thrum throughout his entire body.

 

“Condom?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. They go over this every time, but Derek will still ask. “Safe sex went out the window when you started fucking my mouth raw in every sense of the word. Besides, I don’t have anything, you can’t get anything to give.”

 

Derek licks his lips, drawing Stiles’ attention to them. The lazy drag of tongue pulls his lower lip into his mouth between his teeth when the head of Stiles’ cock breaches his hole, making Stiles groan. An orgy sex tape of his favorite celebrities and porn stars couldn’t touch this shit. He knows he himself looks good, had to work for his body’s definition and lean muscle at Quantico, but there are times where he allows himself to wax poetic about Derek’s body in the late night of his bedroom when he takes himself in his hand. He tries not to specifically think of Derek’s face, tries to erase the tattoo from his mind, just thinks of it as another body in a fantasy to get off to. Sometimes a woman joins them, just to depersonalize it more.

 

But this? This is fucking beautiful. Derek’s eyes are closed, his mouth is wide open while he lets out little gasps as he sinks down onto the cock beneath him. Everything about him is quivering with barely restrained control. He’s tight, hot, slick with lube and feels like heaven. His fingers bite into the thigh underneath them when he instinctively tries to curl his fist against the feeling of being slowly enveloped, other hand reaching to finally curl around Derek’s throat. Red eyes snap down to his once. He’s only about halfway into Derek and that’s just not right. Holding his eyes, he tightens his hand around Derek’s throat and then snaps his hips up until he’s buried to the hilt.

 

Their groans are loud, Derek’s a little breathless because of Stiles’ hand still a claiming presence around his neck. He pulls Derek down by that, holding him above him in stillness. Their ragged breaths are all he can hear underneath his heartbeat, all he can see is Derek. Derek who’s looking down at him with that fucking softness that makes his chest hurt, old wounds throbbing. And as if he can sense it, the pain starts to pull out of his veins and snake into where Derek has his hands braced on his pecs.

 

There’s something dangerous here that wants to bubble out, something that could hurt him worse than whatever is tearing the town apart. Worse than bullets and knives have even done. Worse than being within the blast zone of a bomb that left him with ringing ears for weeks.

 

Something that could actually make him stay.

 

There’s a difference in the kiss he pulls Derek into. They always kiss the same way they fuck: roughly, messily, wetly, borderline angrily. But Stiles just presses up into Derek’s lips, pulling that bottom one between his own and sucking on it. Derek closes his mouth around Stiles’ upper lip and there’s a soft sound in his throat, which sounds like happiness, vibrating against his hand. Stiles matches it when fingers slip through his own messy tufts of hair.

 

That kiss turns into another, then another, slow and intimate. Nothing frenzied or needy like it probably should be when he’s buried balls deep in someone else’s body. He relinquishes his domineering hold on Derek’s neck to bring it up to cup his cheek instead, strokes a thumb over the high point.

 

He stares into the content face above his, sees the soft smile tilting Derek’s mouth and feels the warmth spreading through him.

 

Very, very dangerous.

 

Dropping his hips to the mattress, he gauges Derek’s reaction. The first time he fucked him, he’d done it from behind and wasn’t able to catalogue the way Derek reacted. His mouth drops slightly, eyelids drooping as they roll backward from the sensation.

 

He wants this. Why was he ever so stupid to think he could deny himself this? The way that Derek pants, the way his hips stutter when Stiles’ cock passes over his prostate, the way his breath hitches and fingers spasm and his entire being seems to come alive with pleasure.

 

Stiles feels like he’s fraying at the seams. He went to Derek’s to yell at him, to curse him out for putting doubts in his head about what he was doing in San Francisco, whether it really was home. He didn’t intend to turn it into hate sex and have it slowly shift into… whatever this was becoming.

 

Derek’s hips pick up the pace, grinding down and bouncing up until his blunt nails are almost cutting into Stiles’ chest. He looks down to Stiles and Stiles almost breaks. That look. The feeling in it. The desire, the need, the…

 

Stiles flips them, gathering Derek in his arms and rolling him onto his back with his legs spread wide, knees hooked over Stiles’ arms. He gathers them up towards Derek body and slips back in, aiming a brutal thrust in. He pulls out gently, head of his cock catching on Derek’s rim and keeping him just inside. He’s sharp, bordering on harsh, when he enters Derek again, but glides out softly each time. It seems to be driving Derek crazy, spreads his thighs open wider and wider with each thrust so Stiles can sink in deeper and deeper.

 

There’s come pooling in Derek’s belly button, his cock full and flushed against his stomach where it’s been untouched since Stiles last had it in his mouth.

 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?” Stiles punctuates his question with a sharp thrust, seating himself deep within Derek and holding there. “But you won’t. You’re gonna come just from me fucking you. From my cock inside you, leaking into you, marking you so every wolf will know. That’s what you want, don’t you? To be mine? To have my scent buried so deep inside you it’ll take days to fade. To feel me inside you, to feel my come slip out of your ass, down your thighs, and I’ll wipe it up and push it right back in, hold it inside you with my fingers while I ride your cock…”

 

Derek lets out a strangled sound, hitching his own thighs higher to control the stab of Stiles’ thrust right over his prostate. He curls in on himself a little as strip after strip of come shoots up his chest, some even dribbling down his chin.

 

Stiles moans, wants to come. Wants to pull out and jerk off onto Derek’s softening cock, wants to come in his mouth, wants to paint his cheeks, his chest, his thighs. But the heat gripping him, the tiny little thrusts that Derek’s hips give while he chases the aftershocks, it’s just too much. He buries his face into Derek’s neck, wedging his arms underneath the pliant body, plastering himself across Derek, while he humps one, two, three more times and empties himself with a cry.

 

He’s shuddering, clinging to Derek while the last of his come dribbles out, his hips still pumping halfheartedly. He feels wrung out. Like he’s been thrown into a washing machine and hung out to dry in a tornado. He doesn’t know if that’s the sign of being back, really good sex, or just life catching up with him. Or just being around Derek again.

 

He pulls out when he knows he’s too soft to stay inside anymore, but quickly pushes three fingers back into Derek like he promised. His hole gives easily, welcoming him back in like it always has. Derek sighs, looking up at Stiles for the first time since Stiles pinned him down. He looks content. Come drunk and dazed. Stiles knows Derek hates that empty feeling. Just like Stiles does. “Next time,” he bends to lick a stripe of come off of Derek’s chest, “I’ll grab that plug from your drawer and keep my come in you.” His tongue grazes the sensitive head of Derek’s cock, drawing another whimper from him. “Then, I’ll fuck another load into you.”

 

“Next time?” Derek questions with a raised eyebrow. He’s trying to be snarky, but Stiles can see the hope underneath the mask.

 

Stiles pushes his fingers deeper inside Derek just to get a hitched breath when he grazes against Derek’s sensitive prostate. After a broken moan, Stiles begins slowly removing a finger at a time so that Derek adjusts to the emptiness, ‘til there’s coming dripping down Derek’s ass where he’s fruitlessly trying to clench tightly to keep it in him as long as possible. It pools in the sheets, slowly absorbing into a dark mess that’ll sink into Derek’s mattress and smell of him, of them, for as long as he has it. He stays focused on the wet hole that’s already healed any overuse until he knows Derek’s okay.

 

With a quick flick of his tongue to Derek’s hole to catch his own come, and to see Derek jump at little bit, he begins to crawl up the pliant body. He peppers kisses here, licks come there, bites a nipple, strokes a bicep, sucks the come from Derek’s chin until he’s hover above Derek’s mouth with his. “Next time.” He whispers.

 

“This means something.” Derek will whisper later with a broken voice, eyes fixed on the ceiling. They’re not touching and it feels… wrong.

 

Stiles reaches out to lace his fingers with Derek’s. They’ve always spoken more with touch, so Stiles keeps his mouth closed and drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Stiles taking control on top and being sort of dominant in the situation, when put in scope with the full fic, is a smokescreen. He's actually losing control on everything in his life, so Derek gives this to him. Because he loves him.


End file.
